I admit to having an internally visceral response to even considering re-reading this material– the Xmas of the first year Mom was home with me was one of the harder times for me to get through, and while I do not wish to suppress the emotions associated with what I learned about myself and this situation from that time, the raw nature of it is such you will be able to read this at a much more leisurely pace than I likely ever will.
December 20, 2015
So, this time of year is extraordinarily difficult for what’s left of this family right now, and as such, I’m about to shut down facebook for awhile but may be reached on phone or email, et al. Here’s a sortof update and a “why.”
By way of short summation, mom had her first dance with comprehension and competence issues just over a decade ago, and the following Christmas I brought her home from the care facility she had been in for the first time and pushing her to do “her Christmas things” helped her recover back to a level where she was able to move home with rehab. Christmas then was the ticket to getting out.
Something I never announced but I now mention as a means of explaining a little further why this time of year is not the best for myself also has to do with my prior engagement. I was engaged to be married and had a live in partner for the Xmas of 2013, and my mother was here having a lovely Christmas with myself and my partner, our new cat and mom’s wonderful cat that has been beside her since her recovery 9 years before. The following Fall mom stopped being borderline because she crossed it fully and I made the decision to stand by my mother– ultimately this led to no longer having a fiancée as a result.
Last Christmas was expected to be something very, very different than what came out of it. Mom had a very bad transition back home, and I spent much of the holiday weeping and stumbling around, while trying to get her to do “Xmas stuff” to help her and admittedly to live inside denial a little longer. It didn’t work and Christmas went from being a symbol of her recovery and celebration to its opposite as — even though easily the most painful couple of weeks of my life– it drilled home to me that mom was where she was(is) and was not going to get out of it again.
Rather than telling the long story version, I’ll just say that I decided to take care of her in her dementia until I figured out how to do it and got a grip on myself. Over the summer I also determined that in order to take care of myself in the short term I decided to enroll myself in anti-depressants (Prozac messed with my being, I’ve moved onto celexa since then, for those scoring at home). I know for a lot of people this is a great shame, but I’m here to tell you that it is simply one of the best things I have ever done.
There is no way to avoid a serious health issue doing this kind of work while living somewhat isolated in an imperialist country. I have learned through direct contact that as much as my mother has far better health care because of being in Canada, the way elderly issues here are thought of as things to be kept under wraps, loving your family members when they can’t do anything for you (on purpose, anyhow) is seen as a choice, some grand sacrifice and so on. But in so culturally thinking this way, the damage to caregivers is not in the work or even the stress, but in the isolation. I intend to do many, many things to explain how I see this– but let me say this much:
My mother is unable to make much sense of things going on around her and that’s the way she is going to stay now. But even if she can’t recognize me by name, she does damn well know who I am. When she has had her many hospital visits, she gets this look of absolute disconnection from anything that matters. When she sees me, I can practically see colour return to her face, and as I talk to her for a few minutes she gets a realization that she is going home with her son, to be in her bed, and by far most important, to hold her cat. Then, no matter how much difficultly she may have with anything, she has a purpose and life is a good thing for her.
In other words, we have traded our humanity even with how we love those who loved us in our weakest moments (as infants and as adults) to the point of it being yet another commodity. We buy convenience and we run away. When we don’t want to, we say we “Can’t,” but that’s a lie. It’s a choice.
If I start ranting on that, I won’t stop so let me say that I know there are situations where a person who needs help can’t be helped by family– family who are raising kids on a very tight time budget, for example– but as a society we have turned having our loved ones who need family more than ever into mere products for capitalism to make money from. Simple case in point? I’ve spent a lot of time searching and reading up on tips, information, advice and support systems for caregivers– and the algorithms of other internet things keep rubbing “Looking for assisted living?” type ads in my face fairly often. But your family is not more product. The hardest things you ever do are the things most worth doing.
Mom has taught me a lot this year, many of them things that I was not aware of prior, such as the sense of inner peace going through a very hard slog that is not for yourself. I am not happy, but I am content with who I am more than ever before and I cannot make real plans nor truly be who I know of myself on the day to day– but instead I protect who I am, and what I stand for more by being good at this.
And, after many months of suffering, dealing with grieving my mother while she is sitting on the couch in front of me simultaneously, not letting the excuses of depression/illness, wanting to run away, feeling sorry for myself at being left by my fianceé, not allowing any of those things to break my resolve, the weather changed, I got on my bike for nurse-visits to mom so I could leave the apartment and ultimately her into a day program so I could be normal without her yet still in what is also my home right now we learned new ways of dealing.
I have figured out good real meals she can eat and in so doing have vastly improved my own diet, I went with the anti-depressants to guarantee my own ability to say all alcohol and tobacco needed to be banished from this home (caffeine and THC are close friends here) entirely.
I have moved into acceptance with her that is so good because when she gets things right it is awesome, rather than constantly trying to prevent the unpreventable wrongs. The permanent “what now” stress is gone.
I have never been weaker, more childlike and more confused. I have also never been stronger, more confident, more feeling mature and understanding of life and more grateful than ever to be where I am. I have never been more proud to be Donna’s son, either.
Mom tries to help me constantly. It works for the effort even when there is no success in the deed. She was ready to do this, and as much as one can, has done so with amazing grace all the way through. I had catching up to do, but as she does, she believed in my ability to do it and we got there.
I am not as strong as I think– I’m made of heavy lead that can shatter like candy glass. Mom’s amazing cat got quite sick recently and my pills were not on right and it caused me horrible anguish and fear– deep, snotty, gross, heaving sobs– about moms best friend, the only being left she speaks to confidently, knowing that Mollie isn’t all that worried about the quality of the words that come from mom… she just listens, slow blinks at mom, and everything is peaceful and good. When Mollie got sick, I almost completely came apart. She is recovering now, but I told Mollie “I know you are getting older, and you are a cat, but you have one important job now. Outlive Donna. Do that and her life will stay full the rest of the way.”
I learned some things about these pills and some things about the illusion of strength inherent in this situation from all of that and now I give my mother medication seven times a day and three times to her cat. My cat (originally adopted by myself and my former partner) has no health problems now, but he does torment everyone else– so he does his best to keep the place surprisingly complicated.
Mom will be home in the next day, she has been away from home for ten days which is the longest she has taken a respite since I joined her in this apartment. This Christmas will be slightly harder work than last year, but I’m not at all afraid of it– As I say, now I know what I’m doing– and I can breathe, I can play games, talk to the cats. I look for any excuse/timeframe to get out on my bike (I’m typing a little too fast right now so I can go and do that), and I watch lots of garbage on television.
I’m also good with all of this. the way I felt a year ago about not being able to go outside does not exist in the same way any longer. There is no freedom in a lack of responsibility. There is only a drifting, wandering soul, and in this my mother has continued to be my greatest teacher and I feel very certain that there is a universal logic to what is going on. I am building a chance for mom to keep her security and her smile while giving myself a sense that I can be this person who loves and cares on a daily basis.
I didn’t know that I could do this, and I hit the wall many more than a dozen times in the last year. Each time, I said “Try a little longer” and each time it got a little easier.
I am extraordinarily wary of analogies between being the child and being a parent, I do not think my mother has reverted to childhood. There is one thing from my own childhood, however, I took to heart: Once, I don’t know how old I was but it was when mom was raising me and I lived near my elementary school Gilpin, I was in trouble and mom was mad.
I went to bed and something felt wrong. Mom was not happy with me, and showing it. But I had to get up and see her while she was talking with her friend in the dining room. I had to tell her something:
“Mom, I’ve never gone to bed without my goodnight hug, I need that before bed…” I remember her trying to be still for a second, and she wilted a little, probably mad at herself, but I got my hug after she melted quickly. I was still in trouble, but I was still loved and she let the little kid demand that in his universe.
After getting her ready for bed, I’m more thorough with her than I am with myself, I get to tuck her into the sheets a little, make certain that Mollie is within arms reach and I get to see that smile and hear that “she loves me too,” as she and I both have a little moment where she knows she is home, she knows her son has her back, she has Mollie and most importantly, she knows she belongs. I can give her that. She will not end her life, as best as I can manage it, being denied a place where she belongs and is her corner of the universe.
She can get way better care from professionals, but she will never feel loved and belonging. That’s what I’m doing. Keeping a smile on her face.
And respecting my own face when I look in the mirror.
So, this is a lot longer than I meant it to be, but the bottom line is I am on pause holding this place together and loving my mother harder as a tactic whenever things get more difficult. I can say to people in similar situations: Taking the meds is a means of taking back *some* level of control, or at least agency– and you will feel like you are taking action to help yourself which helps everyone else. The shame should be felt by the society that shames people for having the strength to admit they are not strong enough.
Depression and being burned out are normal now, but I’m not unhappy. I’ve done fucking awesome given all the real world opportunities in front of me when this began. I’m still short but I feel taller. I feel like a little kid sometimes, and I feel like I’ve aged decades. But, as I say, everything is on pause. I can think about and have general ideas about what to do long term, but short term I have a hard time even writing often. For this reason, in the next 48 hours from this Sunday afternoon, I will shut down this account for awhile and I send my love to all now.
I have my mom coming home, and I just got her the tree. Her not helping me put things up will not devastate me any longer. I just get to see her smile at the tree, and hold her cat.